The Funeral

Before I had left the hospital, I had already started making arrangements. It was in the middle of the night. Austin had fallen asleep, and all I was left with was Eliza and my thoughts. I couldn't bare the thought of dragging out her funeral.

So at 4 A.M., I started making calls. Believe it or not, funeral homes answer these questions in the middle of the night. Each one I would call, I would be directed to an answering service. After I told them my situation, each answering service transferred me to the director. I think they may have transferred me to their home phone or cell phone. However, I didn't care if it was 4 A.M. I didn't care if I woke them out of a sleep. My family was in shambles and so was my brain. I needed answers. I needed to start planning the most beautiful arrangements for my beautiful daughter; and their sleeping schedule was not going to interfere with that.

So the day I left the hospital, I already had a meeting with Ratterman's Funeral Home. My husband and mother-in-law went with me to help with the arrangements.

From here, things get a bit fuzzy. I don't really remember much. All I remember is that we had picked out the flowers and they made he obituary.

I think things were so fuzzy because of my shock. I remember there were times I was in a trance. I couldn't look away and I couldn't think about anything else but her. In my trances, I would relive the past 24 hours. I would see her face. I would remember how cold she was. I would relive pushing her out, and not hearing her cry.

These memories would hit me like crashing waves. One moment I would be fine. The next moment I would see her face, and start bawling. It would literally happen at any time, in any surrounding. There were times I would cry while grocery shopping, pumping gas, and most certainly as I laid my head down at night.

The next few days dragged on. I remember that. We lost her on a Thursday and met with the directors of the funeral home on a Friday. Considering they wouldn't be able to get here to the funeral home until Saturday, and it is some weird unspoken rule that funeral homes do not do burials on a Sunday, we had to wait until the following Monday to bury our princess.

So Friday, I called my doctor and requested medication that would help with my anxiety. I explained that I wasn't able to eat nor sleep. I hadn't slept since the night before we knew we lost Eliza, and I hadn't eaten since the morning of my non-stress test. (It actually took over 72 hours before I ever took my first bite of food.) So my doctor prescribed Xanax to help my overwhelming anxiety.

Saturday I spent the entire day in a medical induced trance. I was still unable to eat and I still feared going to sleep. I didn't want to re-energize my body and mind. By this point, I was so tired that I couldn't even think to cause myself to cry anymore. I knew that as soon as I got new energy, I would have the ability to see her face again. To relive everything once more. To cry.

I was right. I finally slept Saturday. Sunday, when I woke, the first thing I did was cry. I didn't even get out of bed before I started crying. I cried and cried some more.

This was going to be the second worst day of my life. It was her viewing.

When we got to the funeral home, we were met with the director. He informed us that they were able to leave her casket uncovered for now.

I remember walking so slowly up to my baby girl. I was so scared to see her again. But God, was she beautiful.

She looked almost like a porcelain doll. She was so still...so at peace. She looked like she was sleeping. Like if I spoke too loud, she would wake up. I took a baby blanket, and tucked her in. I had a matching blanket at home; so that way we would both have one.

I remember grabbing Austin's hand and holding on. I looked at him and all I could whisper was "She looks so beautiful."

I sat with her for hours and stared. I rubbed her hair, and kissed her cheeks over and over.

So many people were crying. I don't know if it was the Xanax or if I was cried out. Maybe it was that it still felt so surreal, but I couldn't cry anymore. All I could do was look at her, smile, and keep saying how beautiful she was. In this odd place in time, I was a proud parent of a beautiful baby girl.

It wasn't until around 1:30 that I lost that ability to smile. The funeral director came back and informed me that they had to close her casket. With infants, they are unable to embalm them. Therefore, it is just applied makeup. With room temperatures, things can begin to look very bad, very quickly.

It was one of the hardest things watching them cover her with the casket lid. It made it so finalized. It made it real again.

It was hard watching them do that to her. I couldn't take it. I was no longer able to envision her as my sleeping princess. Instead, I knew the reality. She was my daughter, and she wasn't sleeping. She was my daughter, and she was gone...

I remember all I could think is I need more medicine. I need this to go away. I guess I thought this little pill was going to fix my life.

I couldn't and didn't go back up to her tiny casket, until everyone had left.

Once everyone was gone, Austin and I just sat there. Staring at the white casket and staring at each other. How had this become our life? How did we become bereaved parents?

The next day was just as hard as the day before. I fell asleep Sunday night crying, and woke up Saturday morning picking up where I had left off the night before...crying.

It was her funeral.

When we got to the funeral home, they were playing lullabies. Songs I would never get to whisper to her as I rocked her to sleep.

I don't remember much of what was said at her ceremony. Between the tears and my disbelief, it was hard to listen. I also think with the amount of shock, my mind has tried to erase a lot of these memories. I believe it is trying to protect me, my heart, and my mind.

I do remember, however, getting to see her one last time before they sealed her casket. I was so scared that I wouldn't get that chance, but thankfully we did. I bent over, and placed my lips on her forehead, and kissed her. I kissed her for a long time. I didn't want to pull away, because I knew this kiss was the last kiss she'd receive from her mommy.

From there we rode to the cemetery. I couldn't tell you what way we traveled or if a conversation took place in the car. My mind has also eliminated this memory. However, I do remember pulling up to the cemetery.

The grandfather's carried her casket and set it down in front of where we sat. The preacher said a prayer and spoke beautifully about my daughter. From there, roses from her spray were passed out.

From there, we walked about 100 feet to where she was to be buried. They slowly placed her in; so gently. However, that was the last thing I could watch. I had to turn away when they started placing the dirt. I couldn't bare to witness it.

Things were blurry. I know I walked past several people, but I don't remember faces. All I wanted to do was get in the car and leave.

Since her funeral, I started sleeping with the matching blanket. I keep latched onto it for comfort at night.

We have yet to clean her things out of the house. I guess I can't bare to let go. I guess I feel like when her things are gone, she truly will be too.

Some days I hate looking at it, other days I don't want it to go anywhere. I've been asked several times if I needed help clearing her things. I just can't bare to let go. Not of her things...and not of her.